TBDH : 12 Days of Christmas Legend
by Scioneeris
Summary: Set in the There Be Dragons, Harry Universe, A snippet in which Harry must collect tokens from each representation of the 12 days of Christmas before it's too late. It is NOT TBDH canon. First Person POV.
1. Partridge, Part I

**Summary:**

Set in the There Be Dragons, Harry Universe, this snippet is meant to be a Christmas One-Shot with Harry, the 12 days of Christmas and random fluff. It is NOT TBDH canon. First Person POV.

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 **Pairings:**

Harry Potter x Harry's Bonded

Random mythology characters.

 **Disclaimer:**

I do not own any Harry Potter anything. That belongs to J.K. Rowling. I just like playing with Harry in my own little world of storyville. I make no money by writing this fanfiction. All original characters are my own.

 **Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16.

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 **WARNINGS:**.Smexy Hints. Slash. Angst. Family. OC's. OOCness. TBDH Universe. AU. Other warnings will be added as I see fit.

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 _ **A/N:** This is a prompt fill for the 12 days of Christmas and TBDH. I am stretching some very rusty writing muscles and attempting Harry in first person POV. It sounds a bit spazzy to me, but I hope you enjoy it. It will be very, very short chapters and yes-it is prewritten. I've already finished it and I'm posting the short clips/scenes, as I finish editing them. Harry has accepted something troubling and as such, is completing the "12 Days of Christmas" Legend in the song of the same name-as such, I'm creating a bunch of OC's for things like the two turtledoves, the partridge, etc. Expect silliness and maybe some old characters..._

 _Thanks for reading and your continued support of this dragel-fandom-love-fest ~Scion_

* * *

A partridge in a pear tree is really the last thing I care to be looking for, but at this point in time, I find that I cannot be anywhere near as picky as I would like.

There are too many things depending on this ridiculous adventure and while I do not doubt my survival—I do doubt a significant amount of other things.

Namely, the idiot who caused this problem, the idiot who made him cause the problem and the idiot that directed me here in the first place.

No. Really.

I do mean it.

It has taken nearly all day to climb this magic-forsaken mountain and if it wasn't for Hadrian and his stupid training regimens, I don't think I'd have the strength to do it in the same breath.

Thankfully, only my arms and legs are useless at the present—my mouth, it seems, is quite fine and able to gape stupidly at the most ridiculous sight I've ever seen in my eighteen years.

A partridge.

In.

A.

Pear. Tree.

Just resting is good for my nerves and half-useless limbs. I know the feeling will return to them in a bit and hopefully, enough energy to get back down the mountain, considering what a pain it was to get up it.

According to Alleon's rumor, I'm to actually rescue the bird—seeing as the magic in the actual tree, as a living…something…prevents the wailing young woman at the foot of the mountain from climbing it to fetch it herself.

Of course, she also had a folktale to tell about women not being allowed on the mountain—I would say it was for their own safety. There is no way they could climb up this mountain in those stupid tourist costumes and return alive.

Alright, maybe they could. Maybe. I would give them that much credit, at the very least—but it would be unnecessarily hard.

Then again—there's that whole pear thing.

Supposedly this orchard is alive.

Except, that I can't feel anything. Anything at all. Whether it's alive or dead or just sleeping—nothing.

It's rather—strange.

Of course, being an Empath means that I'm used to strange things. Sort of. Some things, I don't think you can ever really get used to.

My feet are working again—great. I convince them to carry me up to the golden gate, where I use the young woman's stolen key to open it.

There are no precautions on the gate—no triggers or magical protections—and so the plot thickens.

I throw the key through the open gate and wait.

Nothing happens.

I dare to kick a spray of dirt through the gateway.

Still nothing.

Unshouldering the Twin's favorite rucksack, I chuck it through the gateway too.

Curious.

Yet again—nothing.

No harm in traveling through, I suppose. It it was a sudden feeling of dread that I take the first step through the gate.

Of course—nothing happens.

Nothing ever happens on the first step.

It's the fifth one that sends me flying.

* * *

 **This is NOT TBDH-canon. Like most of my prompts, this was written in a 30-minute block. I apologize for any obvious typos or plot holes and the fact that it's largely in present tense. This was born from the need to write some sort of fluff for Christmas and being silly enough to take a writing dare for the 12 days of Christmas. Whoops. I guess my hand slipped... I hope you enjoyed it! I'm rusty on Harry in first person POV. Thanks for reading! (and yes, I SWEAR the new chapter of TBDH is coming soon.)**


	2. Partridge, Part II

_**SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMERS**_

* * *

 _ **A/N:** This is a prompt fill for the 12 days of Christmas and TBDH. I am stretching some very rusty writing muscles and attempting Harry in first person POV. It sounds a bit spazzy to me, but I hope you enjoy it. It will be very, very short chapters and yes-it is prewritten. I've already finished it and I'm posting the short clips/scenes, as I finish editing them. Harry has accepted something troubling and as such, is completing the "12 Days of Christmas" Legend in the song of the same name-as such, I'm creating a bunch of OC's for things like the two turtledoves, the partridge, etc. Expect silliness and maybe some old characters..._

 _Thanks for reading and your continued support of this dragel-fandom-love-fest ~Scion_

* * *

Nearly an hour later, I find myself waking from the forced slumber, achy, cold and fretful in the worst of ways.

It's begun to darken, the end of the day on call—and I have been warned to time my journey so as not to be stuck in this stupid orchard.

It is interesting to note that I'm _inside_ the orchard still and not outside.

Even more curious to note that I've been comfortably settled into a sort of grassy bowl beneath the massive fruit trees.

Honestly, this is a bit disconcerting.

Just a bit.

A careful inventory is all I need to make sure that everything is where it should be an all limbs are in proper working order.

The aches and pains do not vanish, which is a slight pause for worry, because Dragels heal fast and while my healing has certainly decelerated with things in their current state—it hasn't deserted me.

A few more embarrassing minutes tick by while I convince my exhausted body to pick itself up and begin again.

And, naturally, it's only when I straightening up to my usual, short-height that I realize the branches overhead are casually moving aside, so as not to brush my head.

Moving.

As if they are more than merely alive.

Oh Ergen, Arielle and Merlin.

* * *

Running blindly through an orchard of enchanted fruit trees is not the best idea I've ever had.

Granted, it's not the worst—the worst involved, well—Charlie has agreed to never speak of it again, so I ought to at least try and forget it. Still.

I am black and blue from tripping, darting and dodging.

The trees, by the way, can move.

They simply tear and wrinkle their fat roots here and there, and the ground _parts for them._

You can't even tell there's been something shifting and moving around you, just noticing the occasional depression in the ground or a ripple in the thick grass.

Ergen help me, but I am not spending the night in a place like this—I don't care how—the loud clanging echoing through the blasted orchard is the death toll ringing out that I really, really don't want to acknowledge.

Because I probably shouldn't have tossed the key. Because I don't know where the key is—and because if the gate has swung shut—I am not climbing over the spiky grated tops or the fancy spiked fence.

And of course, I'm not dense enough to imagine that I could simply open the gate from the inside—like normal. Oh no, that's if I even get to the gate.

The chill in the air is finally settling in. I shiver enough to attempt to warm myself by drawing the cloak tighter around my shoulders. It's Charlie's cloak, incidentally, because he's tall and it's oversized and he always has the best outerwear.

I figure it's because he had to learn to recognize and use it, when he was back in Romania, as a good cloak on a long night watch with a sick dragon is probably a very necessary staple. He doesn't talk about it much, but every once in a while, he'll smile and remember something. I try not to pry, but sometimes I worry if he misses it or something there. A dragon or two.

Even though we're dragons ourselves, I suppose there are some things that you just don't get over. Charlie has always loved dragons.

And thinking of him now makes me wish he was here, so he could torch this entire stupid orchard.

Really.

"Climb up here," the voice is light, whispery and desperately urgent. "Hurry—before the Grand Tree sees you!"

My yelp is swallowed down by an unexpected mouthful of leaf and tree branch, as I turn and find myself staring at a dull wooden face.

I stare at it.

It stares back.

"You're a tree?" the words croak out, before I can help myself. _Really Harry—you know how to speak. Use your words._

"Did Maggie send you? She did, didn't she? She's been the only one sending people—but just getting here isn't enough. You've got to—hurry, climb me. Get up as high as you can and don't move or—or-"

"Or breathe?" I supplied. The deep rumbling beneath my feet was enough of a warning to spur me forward.

I shoved the rucksack over my shoulder, glad the thick strap would hold, before I grabbed at the fairly smooth bark of the talking tree.

The wooden face winced. "No need to pull so hard—I can help you."

* * *

 **These chapters will be short. Like, really, really short. and silly. It's a silly story. :P Enjoy! ~Scion**


	3. Partridge, Part III

_**SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMERS**_

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _Yes, Harry will be scene hopping in this fic. Yes, he is older. No, I won't be giving out Bonded spoilers-but all the potentials/hopefuls/Intendeds and whatnot, will be fully utilzed. Enjoy! Thanks for reading and your continued support of this dragel-fandom-love-fest ~Scion_

* * *

It took some combined effort to propel me somewhere near the middle of the tree and then to hold on tight while said tree surreptitiously glided about the orchard to a slightly hidden cove in the corner.

At the end of the orchard, the spiky metal gates turn into crumbling stone walls with thick curtains of ivy spilling over the top.

Craning my neck didn't provide any useful views and when I dared to rustle the slender branches holding me, they tightened at once.

"Don't," the tree said, shortly. "It's a sheer drop off. You'd die in an instant."

I bite back the urge to snap that I wouldn't—I would fly off just fine, thank you very much. But then a frisson of coolness washes over me as the tiniest inkling of doubt registers. Weird and strange as this entire mountain trek has been, I wonder if my wings would have come out.

Magic allows them to fit and move around my human form, skeleton and all—without it, I hate to think of what would happen to my blissful existence spent in my halfway form. Half-dragon, half-wizard.

The tree settles down in the corner and it takes its time, before shuddering quite violently, and delivering a few untimely scratches to my face.

"Ow, ow, ow," I mutter, twisting and yanking my hands free to swipe at the warm wetness on my cheeks.

These branches _are_ sharp. Huh.

The shuddering stops and the tree slumps, as if to sigh. "Don't rub at it. The sap will get in the wounds."

"And you would warn me because?" I prompt, twisting to draw out the first-aid kit that Quinn has meticulously stocked for my personal use. There is enough healing balm and applicators crammed into the first few pockets—that I know I should be fine.

"Because any magical creature that should ingest this sap, whether it be accidental or deliberate, will die a slow and painful death in the worst of ways."

I paused in mid-dab with the antiseptic bottle and accompanying soft rag. "Really?"

"Really. Now tell me, how did you come here and why?"

"How about you tell me if there and antidote first and where I can find it?"

"Now why would I do that?"

"Because Maggie did send me and if you're the…Partridge she was talking about?"

The branches rustled.

I couldn't see the face from where I was, but the branches began to unwind, allowing me the freedom to move easier, but forcing me to find and keep my own footing.

Magic was slowly flickering out, I could feel it in the way the charms over Charlie's cloak began to give out.

The chilly wind was the first hint. I hunkered down in the nice grooved section of the upper branches.

"…I am a pear tree," the tree said, quite clearly.

"And I'm a Dragel," I countered, matter-of-factly. "Your point?"

"…Perry," the tree said, at last. "I am called Perry."

"Harry," I offered. "Harry-uh—Potter—of the Nott Circle."

"…Just Perry. All I've ever wanted to be is Perry."

"Great. Perry. Nice name. Has a good ring to it. Why are you a pear tree? Or were we skipping that part?"

The branches rustled again, but this time, with a faint hum thrumming through them.

"Because I dared to love a woman with hair the color of the sunset after a warm autumn day."

I shifted, feeling my left leg going to sleep on me. "That's very—nice?"

"Nice?" The tree—Perry—sputtered. "No man must ever have anything to do with a woman of the Cynaphzer Tribe, it is forbidden."

"…I'm a dragel and just because of that I don't exist in some realms because of the way I'm hardwired," I said, easily. "Try me."

"They are harbingers of death!"

"…And I'm hardwired to crave a harem of gorgeous, sometimes incredibly dense, but well-meaning men."

Perry twisted around enough for his face to be visible from below. "You are a strange one."

"Why thank you," I offer a mock-bow or at least, a very vague approximation of it. My movements are limited, because I'm trying to blot my face—still. "This antidote thing?"

"…Dragelsshouldn'tneedit." He mumbles.

"Excuse me?"

"…Youdontneedanantidote."

"…Maybe you should try taking a breath after each word. Maggie wants to see you."

Perry trembles.

This, I can tell, because it's quite different from the previous rustling. "Perry?"

"I should never have looked at her."

"She thinks you're fascinating and wants to see you bake pies and stuff again. Said your fruit tarts were the best she'd ever eaten. Antidote?" my empathy is flickering at the corners and it means that I ought to listen to it. At least, enough to know that Perry does not really regret his decision, even if it has somehow resulted in his treeness.

Or something.

* * *

 **I named a tree Perry. Good grief someone help me...-insert hopeless sarcasm here-. So. Perry?. :P Enjoy! ~Scion**


	4. Partridge, Part IV

_**SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMER!**_

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The conversation takes too long but eventually, Perry does let me stand on the ground and that's when I realize there really is something wrong with my legs.

It's more than merely fatigue, but they feel—strange—for lack of a better word and there's enough of a frantic warning scream rattling through my very bones, for me to know that something is very wrong.

"So you just have to change back, then get out of the garden?"

"Orchard," he corrects. "And it's not that simple. If I could leave—if I could simply walk out of here." He stares down at his thick roots.

I stare at them too, but I'm still a bit confused—and now—I'm in a hurry too. "I'll help you change back, but then you owe me the antidote and we both have to get out of here. Now."

"I have heard that promise many times before."

"I'm not like the others, Perry."

"I've heard that one too. You don't understand, Harry. This isn't what it seems. Nothing here is—you-"

"Antidote, Perry." I said, firmly. "If anything should happen to me—then you staying alive, will be the least of your worries. Dying might be better."

"Perhaps death is all I am good for," he said, mournfully.

"Do I have to—eat one of your pears or something?"

If a tree could actually turn green in that sense, Perry did. He shook his branches rather violently.

I was almost amused at that. "What? Eat a root? Boil bark?"

Perry's branches curled inward. He seemed to shrink his great hulking self down inside of his lightly pebbled trunk.

"The only way to get an antidote—" He hesitated.

The answer dawned with that single tell. "The Grand Tree? That's what's controlling this? All of this?" No wonder my arms and legs had felt so heavy after climbing up the whole mountain.

There had been many kinds of prickly bushes and shrubs along the half-hewn pathway up the mountain. I'd suffered a fair share of scrapes and bruises, treating them quickly each them, as I noticed my natural healing ability starting to peter out.

"It's not that easy."

"Right. Find the key for the gate—we need it—I'll be back."

"Harry—you can't-"

"You know, a lot of people have told me what I can't do and the funny thing is—they're always wrong. Because I can. I really can. And I shouldn't have to prove that to them. They should know."

"You'll never-"

"Get out of here, if you don't find that stupid key. Maggie needs it." I turned away from him, fumbling in my pockets. There were a few experimental potions I'd pilfered for moments like this.

Now all I had to do was find the Grand Tree and leave the rest to Perry.

A rumbling roar sounded a bit too close to comfort.

I winced. Great. It wouldn't be that hard to find after all.

* * *

 **Harry is escaping and it seems that Perry is helping. :P Enjoy! ~Scion**


	5. Partridge, Part V

_**SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMER!**_

* * *

"Are you mad?" Perry screamed—quite close to my ear—considering that he was human again and carrying me in his arms, running down the mountainside. "You could have gotten killed."

He's interesting in human form, I think. It's a pity I missed the transformation, but I was otherwise occupied, considering that I am mostly all in one piece. For the moment.

My head lolled to the side, almost rolling off of his shoulder. The fight had been close, but there was more than one way to kill a tree—without magic.

Especially if it wasn't a real tree and especially if it had to do with wild magic. All wild magic stemmed from life energy. All dragel magic came from blood magic. And blood—is life. We were equal in the end.

And I did have to eat a pear to cure the paralytic poison. Dragel or not, I wasn't about to take chances and considering the weirdness with my magic in said orchard, it was probably for the best.

As best as I could understand for the most part, all who had come to rescue Perry had lost their lives within the orchard. The branches—and anything on the mountain really—from the climb and in the orchard itself, would kill a person and slowly turn them into a tree.

All of those shivering trees had been people at some point. I hadn't been able to do a thing about them—but today, my only rescue had been Perry.

There was something that Perry had, which made him immune to that part—turning totally into a tree—but I suspected was mostly on account of how strong his magic had been.

And his connection to Maggie.

The Grand Tree had been draining the life force of each individual victim and powering itself for decades, up until Perry had come along.

Perry who had swallowed the key—partially my fault and partially The Grand Tree's—and now would be able to do what no one else had.

With the key, Maggie could seal the orchard—would seal it, if I asked her to. There was no need for it to be open—and I didn't want to know how she'd stolen the key in the first place.

Now, the entire orchard was engulfed in flames and Perry had snatched me up, baggage and all from the ground where I'd been trying—yet again—to convince my feet to work, and bolted down the mountainside.

I was amazed at what good time we were making. For a great hulking brute of a man, he was doing well.

Barefoot too.

And still—the vague itchy feeling crawling over my skin made me want to burn him right along with the trees.

A familiar feeling.

One that came every single time I dared to accept a stranger's help instead of figuring things out myself.

Particularly noticeable when the help became somewhat more physical—even a pat on the shoulder would set my scales the wrong way.

I all but threw myself out of Perry's arms, the moment I felt the magical mountain's hold evaporate.

Perry skidded to a halt, tugging at his wild brown hair, before frantically trying to hurry me up and down the mountain.

I dodged his hands, my movements sluggish and off-kilter, but still quicker than his worried attempts.

It took a painful shudder of my own before my dragel wings came singing forth—bursting through skin and cloth, flecks of blood spattering the foliage around me, as they stretched out as best as they could in the cramped space.

They brushed against jagged pine trees and raggedy hardwoods, before I managed to curl them forward. I would have to deal with the mess later.

"My turn, hold on-" I tackled him about the waist, allowing him to slip through my hands, until I was holding his. That was the best I could manage. Strength at this point was not something I wanted to test.

But it took a single breath and several powerful beats of my wings to lift us up and out from the darkened danger of the forest below.

I skimmed over the treetops, ignoring his wriggling and wailing—really, I wasn't that bad of a flier—and then angled towards the familiar scent of the only villager who had bothered to speak to me—and offer help.

We came to a stop outside of Maggie's little hut at the base of the mountain. I dropped him a foot from the ground and found my own strength ebbing from the lack of adrenaline.

He staggered a few steps, then gave a choked cry.

She came rushing out of the little lean-to, wide blue eyes and flaming tri-color hair. Her magic was thick and potent, swirling around her in a way that made my heart ache for home.

I lay on the dusty patch of road, watching them babble nonsensically to each other, trying to hug, hold and kiss at the same time.

Liars.

They'd said they weren't even friends. Maggie had, anyway.

But the tenderness at each other's hands—that was love. That was definitely more than friends and I was happy enough for them.

The antidote is working now and I'm relieved. I'm starting to feel a whole lot better—more like myself, at any rate.

Whatever mixed-up version of myself I happen to be at this point. Uncorking a vial of Quinn's Pure Healer's Blood, I swallowed it in two strong gulps.

Strength flooded me almost at once and magic rose up from the dirt beneath me, twining, swirling and singing.

Inside of my rucksack, I'd added one of the bitter pears from the Grand Tree. Just in case. I scribbled a note and threw it at the still snogging couple.

Maggie's hand flashed out at the last minute and caught it, before it could interrupt their moment. I figured that was as good as a goodbye as I needed to give.

Gathering my wings together once more, I swept upwards to the sky.

One down—eleven to go.

…Theo is going to kill me.

* * *

 **Welp. How was that for a tidy bow? Now we're on to the Two Turtledoves! Woohoo! :P Enjoy! ~Scion**


	6. Turtledoves, Part I

_**SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMER!**_

Prison sucks.

It stinks. It's dark. And there's no fresh blood supply.

And yes, I do mean that as weirdly and creepily as it sounds. I shuffled in the dark, trying and failing to find a single breath of clean, fresh air in the dank cell.

In about ten minutes, the one-eyed guard, Sable, would come through with a bucket of slop meant to be dinner.

I was suffering through the horrendous indignity of it all because of the two gorgeous young women chained to the wall in the prison cell opposite of me.

Clothed in white and with eyes just as pitch black as Hadrian's—I know there's more magic to them that meets the eye.

The artifact led me here, so I know they have to be something. My guess, if this stupid thing is going to drag me around in chronological order—is that they're two turtledoves.

Except for there's nothing turtle-y about them. Or dove-y.

I've never even heard them speak—and believe me, I've been here for four days, I've been trying to speak to them since them.

The plaque outside their cell says something about mercenary work. I'm impressed. A little worried, but somewhat impressed.

I hope this means they have good combat skills, because I really don't want to be the only one hacking my way out of this place when it's time to leave.

And I really do have to time this right. I didn't realize how much that orchard would take out of me. At least, I can rest here.

Somewhat.

I hate bribing guards.

My bag is lighter, but at least, I'm in the cell with the two not-turtledoves. All of my attempts at conversation have fallen flat and my old cell is now filled with the sort of company that I would dearly love to avoid.

Thankfully, Hadrian's own gift resides well enough within me that I have kept my rucksack and few trinkets to my name.

No one has dared do anything more than a heavy shove to the shoulder—there are whispers that it is known what I am, but no one wants to anger a Dragel—if I exist.

Which I do, thank you very much.

They don't quite know what I can do to them, but they know that it could be terrible. Could be.

The turtledoves are straining against their bonds now—they seem to always do that as what little light of day fades away to nothing. I don't understand why—is it the change of day to night or something more?

Oh wait—there's something—the one on the left, her sleeve is torn and it showing clear, porcelain skin and a pitch black tattoo edged along in a simple cuff-style.

Hm. Almost like an actual cuff. Like a magical artifact.

Oh snap.

It hurts to realize what's holding them there and to imagine how they must've been caught in the first place.

But that makes it a bit easier for me in terms of rescuing them, because I know right away what I can do to set them free.

Breaking magical bonds is no big deal.

Lengthening my right fingers into the familiar scaled claws of my kind, I choose my left arm for the usual canvas. I need blood and about five runes.

That should be more than enough.

* * *

 **Mercenary turtledoves. -stifles giggle- I may have gotten carried away on this prompt. What I really want to get to, is the end where Harry comes back to his Bonded after this wild adventure. Hence, my skimming over the individual legend bit-detail-thingys. Sorta. Enjoy! Thanks for reading and reviewing! ~Scion**


	7. Turtledoves, Part II

_**SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMER!**_

The runes sear into my skin with the unfamiliar shock of pain that sometimes accompanied my use of Blood Magic. Hadrian had once told me that pain was the price paid for using it, because of how absolute that Blood Magic could be.

It was our native magic to begin with and thus unique to every individual dragel. I'd simply learned that mine could be just as temperamental as my empathy when it had first started.

The first strains of relief came slipping towards me and I closed my eyes to savor the feeling of it.

Magical bonds loosened and twisted, slowly melting away to give the young women their freedom.

When the chains clanged to the stone floor, my eyes flew open to stare at them. They were holding each other tight in the usual reassuring embrace of siblings making sure the other was alright.

And then their magic returned.

It was a beautiful thing to witness.

Rich white swirls of the finest sparkling sand and golden sparkles to accompany them. Sweeping up from the floor and washing over them as if from head to toe, cleaning their white robes to be lovely white gowns with matching capes.

The one on the left has her braid on the left and the one the right mirrors it. Charming detail, I note, because they look more regal than I expected them to and something tells me that there's more to the pair than I really want to know.

But for now, I just have to get them out of there. Far away from this place.

Myself included.

"Hey—hey there—you two!"

They both turn to me, with identical looks of disdain down their prettily pointed noses.

Ugh.

"You'll never make it out of the stairwell," I said, grimly. "Use your magic properly." I try not to look at the other cells. There are too many hopefuls in there and I don't want to free them.

Not because they don't deserve freedom—or because they don't—but the escape route I know that will work, will cost.

I can pay that price, for three—but not for anyone else.

Someone will die, if I should let them out—there is absolutely no doubt about that.

"Did you do this?" The one on the left asks, holding up one of her arms, the white gown's sleeve is stained with rusty red—blood.

"Yes. To get you out of that," I start towards the door and stop when a bolt of golden magic shears out and scorches the ground a few inches away from my borrowed boots (because of course I borrowed Theo's boots. His are always the most comfortable).

"Blood Magic?" The one on the right sputters. "How dare you!"

"You're welcome," I snap back. I wave a hand at the door. The locking mechanism begins to twist and churning, clicking open to release me.

"We did not require your assistance!" The left one says, frostily. "Kindly refrain from meddling in our affairs, outsider."

"Excuse me?"

"We don't need your help," the one on the Right says. "We've managed well enough on our own."

"They're going to kill you."

"Magic never dies."

I stare at them. I didn't have to do this but—well, yes—I did. Kind of.

I don't have time to explain things in pretty words and neat snippets of witty summary. I just need to get them out of there. I also need a feather from each of them.

And I really don't have time to be nice about it-!

"Twenty minutes," I heard myself say, brusquely. "I'll see you topside."

Hadrian's taught me to cling to the shadows and that's how I manage to slip out of the cell and up the stairwell.

It's how I know how to go through the walls and not actually up the stairs and then down the stairs and into the courtyard.

And of course, I can fly—so it hardly hurts to fall from that height, skimming down to touch on the dusty courtyard.

Then I wait.

Because it won't take long.

I did give them a deadline after all.

* * *

 **Mercenary turtledoves and goodness knows what else. Forgot to post yesterday. Thanks for the support, you wonderful darlings. I do appreciate it, as I know this isn't my usual fare, but I wanted to write something quick. I do have another Christmas piece (in my usual 3rd person POV style), that I might post sometime tonight or tomorrow, if I can clean it up. Buried under Christmas things at the moment. Thanks for reading and reviewing! ~Scion**


	8. Turtledoves, Part III

_**SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMER!**_

When the fight breaks out, it's only ten minutes after I've been sitting out under the ornamental charm trees, snacking on jerky and reading that stupid encyclopedia that I can never really ever seem to finish reading—even with those speed glasses.

By the time the fighting sounds reach me—and I've been watching all the outside guards rush to the interior of the lower section of the castle—there is little for me to actually do.

The Dove Sisters burst out from the bowels of the castle, brandishing stolen sworn, covered in dirt, blood and darkness.

It's almost refreshing.

These are not the damsels-in-distress that I was starting to worry about.

Now, in the bright light of the courtyard—because of course that would be all lit up—I can see that the white tint to their hair isn't really hair at all, but feathers.

Snowy white feathers.

Well.

That was unexpected.

Pained gasps and scarcely sensible murmurs are traded between them, Lefty leaning heavily on her sword that conveniently long enough for such a thing.

Righty clutches her arm as they trade looks between each other.

I give them a moment, before the slight burn on my arm reminds me that twenty minutes are almost over and I'll need to release them in a moment.

"This way-!" I call to them, standing up and summoning a flame to my hands. I'll need to burn the runes off of them—if they will let me.

It's not good for them to wear off on their own, but it does take a significant amount of trust to allow a flame near feather.

"You!" Righty lunges for me.

Lefty make a squeak of distress.

The guards burst out of the castle.

I open my mouth and scream.

The reverberating shockwave of sound knocks them all flat. And then I'm running, moving forward.

Grabbing Lefty's braid, I pour Hadrian's magic into her, demanding the natural shape of her true nature.

Her change triggers Righty's own and within seconds, there are two small turtledoves on the ground, cooing desperately to each other.

I scoop them into my rucksack—handy thing—and bolt.

Wings ripping free from my shoulders and weight altering with a touch of Theo's element. I'm airborne within seconds and carried even higher on the currents with scarcely a breath of effort.

Their magic sparks feebly within the sack, but I only make sure to hold it more carefully. They will be alright.

* * *

 **And there is one more turtledove piece and then that's that for the dove sisters. French Hens are next. Hint, hint! Thanks for reading and reviewing! ~Scion**


	9. Turtledoves, Part IV

_**SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMER!**_

When I return them to their brooding clan, there is a great cry of joy. Their Advisors come rushing on hands and knees, to exclaim over the small avian figures.

I step back, warily, giving them room for their welcomes and hovering, because I'm not leaving without those blasted feathers.

Even if they are really more grey and brown than actual white…

It takes a while for the angry hisses and glowers to tone down, because the Dove Sisters are powerful enough to change themselves back when I've let them out of the bag.

By the time the Advisors calm them down, they're angry, but reserved and restrained enough to listen to my plight.

So I tell them of the challenge, of what is required and that I wish to have a feather from each of them—in exchange for burning off the runes I've magically carved in each of their arms.

Lefty and Righty exchange a glance and then Lefty sighs—it's a long, slow breath that seems as if she's giving in and I don't understand why.

"I told you someone would come again," she says softly, to her sister and ventures forward. Her gown has pressed against the wound and crusted over just enough.

It must hurt her wing in her alternate form. I wait until she's within arm's reach, then hold out a hand.

She reaches up with her free hand and plucks a single grey feather from her dark hair, handing it over with her injured arm.

Taking the feather and carefully tucking it away, I call up the magic that has remained coiled within me, taut—wanting to be used more than I've let it.

For Hadrian's magic, dark as it is, always will belong to the night and tonight is no different.

Lefty makes no sound as I heal the carved runes in her arm—I didn't expect them to etch so deeply into her skin—to actually draw blood, but magic does have a price.

I was simply prepared to pay it this time.

"Thank you," Lefty says, politely.

It is kind of her not to mention that the healing would be unnecessary, if I hadn't carved the runes there in the first place but she's still talking and I have to struggle to focus on her words, because I'm so close to finishing this second task and I really don't want to listen to another-

"…You didn't have to heal my wing too. Thank you. It has been years since I've felt strong enough to fly."

Her words register deeper than I want them to and I make the calculations a lot quicker than I expected.

Years.

She hasn't flown in years.

That would mean the same for her sister.

It would mean that the bastard was right. They needed rescuing—that was for sure—and you mean to tell me that he couldn't find anyone else to help?

Anyone willing to lend a hand?

Any _dragel_ willing to lend a hand?

Liar.

Surely someone would have helped.

If they'd known.

Righty is next and after another silent exchange, she ventures forward, mimicking all that her sister has done before. I tuck her feather away securely, before I heal her arm with the same perfection as her sister.

"Thank you," she says, hoarsely. "Your kindness is appreciated."

And now I really don't understand them at all, but I nod, because gestures are easier than words and now, I have to think about three French Hens and that's going to be a headache for a while-

"Are you after the twelve labors of Christmas?" Lefty asks, softly. "It is far too dangerous for any one person."

"Dragel," I said, shortly. "And it's days. Twelve days of Christmas. Gifts or something."

"Labors," Righty corrects. "Stars above, tell me they didn't give you a deadline."

My lack of answer is enough of one.

The sisters cling to each other. "Travel safe," they trill, as one. "Call us, if you should have need."

They twist into their dove shapes then, flying a lazy circle overhead around me.

I'm not stupid enough to pretend that I don't feel or notice their protective magic.

I am smart enough to keep my mouth shut.

* * *

 **That's that for the dove sisters. French Hens are next. No guesses for the French Hens? Wow. lol. Glad everyone is still enjoying this. :) Thanks for reading and reviewing! ~Scion**


	10. Three French Hens, Part I

_**SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMER!**_

* * *

"Harry?" Fleur stares at me in disbelief.

I'm sure the expression on my face is just about equal to hers.

"Gabby oh, Gabby, come quickly!"

And then her younger sister, Gabrielle is there and a third sister—one I've never seen before.

They are all tall, thin and very, very blonde. They are also patting my shoulders, my hair and my rucksack.

"Uh, Fleur—it's great to see you, but uh-"

"Down!" Fleur says, a little sharper than necessary, but the other two girls pause enough to look at her. "You're scaring him," she scolds. "He is my friend."

"He's my friend too!" Gabrielle protests. "He saved me."

"He wouldn't have had to, if you'd remembered your training," the tallest one says, preening her fingernails. "I was only checking to see if he's attached, is all."

Quarter-Veela. The thought scrolls through my head and I'm grateful for the myriad of mating marks that are well hidden beneath my traveling clothes.

Even if they can't be seen due to my current traveling outfit—they will still give off the necessary magical aura to any unattached being. They will know I am taken and I will have no need of explaining it to them.

"Anette!" Fleur exclaims, appalled. "Do not do such things. He is—he's here as a guest, he's—" she falters. "What are you here for, Harry Potter?"

And so I tell her.

As much as I can, anyway.

When I haltingly mention the legend of the twelve days and needing some token from the 3 French Hens, the sister trio exchanges a glance and Fleur looks away.

"Perhaps you should come inside," She says, at last.

And I follow her into their little vacation home.

* * *

They would rather not give me tokens, she explains. Not because they do not wish to help, but because it would not be the best choice for them.

Anette recommends another French family further down the map and I am wondering if I want to know what these tokens involve.

Gabrielle is looking stubborn and I am familiar with those clenched fists at her sides. It is something Ginny would do right before losing her temper.

"You can't send him away, Fleur, you can't!" She protests. "Anette, tell her. You can't. You just can't. He's only just come."

"Hush Gabby," Anette fusses, but she refuses to look me in the eye.

"Fleur—can I talk to you—alone?" I ask, because this conversation is confusing and I don't want anything to get out of hand.

The sisters manage a three-way glance between them and then Fleur rises from the table, all careful elegance and stern demeanor. ut.

* * *

 **The guesses for Fleur and her sisters are correct! I am, obviously, taking creative license with adding in another sister and whatnot, but it made it fit the prompt. So there. LOL. Enjoy! Sorry for the long gap. I do have this written, I just don't have it edited. Drat. Thanks for reading and reviewing! ~Scion**


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